Fangirls' Soliloquy
by lunaleth
Summary: He never notices us. He never notices anyone but her. James Potter's fangirls rant helplessly about his obsession. LJ


**Fangirls' Soliloquy**  
By Lunaleth

9.17.2008

He never notices us. He never notices anyone but her.  
James Potter's fangirls rant (helplessly) about his obsession. LilyJames

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters.

* * *

We officially love James Potter.

We love everything about him.

We love his hair, the way it never seems to tame, the way he runs his fingers through it to make it stand on end. We love his eyes, that warm, penetrating hazel, that tender way he has of looking at the girl he loves. We love his smile, his smug, confident grin, the way he laughs like there's no tomorrow. We love his height, how he towers over everyone else, how he always seems like a white knight in shining armor. He's intelligent, athletic, admired, funny, kind, and handsome. He's everything we want.  
He's everything a girl could ever wish for.

But he never notices us. He never notices anyone but her.  
It's always her.  
It's so unfair.

She's normal enough.  
She has large emerald eyes. She has red auburn hair with a daunting temper to match. Her intelligence can't be disputed, though she can be frustratingly stubborn when she wants to be. She laughs, smiles, and giggles just like everyone else. She has those strange habits that no one can understand; she twirls her hair absently when she writes, bites her lip when she's thinking, flushes crimson with fury when provoked, and reads enough to fill the library over five times. She loves chocolate, sugar, ice cream, gelatin, and caramel. She makes friends and enemies and falls in love.  
She's normal enough. To everyone else, she's just another girl.

But not to him.  
To him she's perfect.

We plan everything. How we dress, how we walk, how we speak. We always look perfect every time he sees us, spending ages to match our clothes, forever to do our hair, and an eternity to apply cosmetics. We plan everything we do every time we meet him.  
And he notices nothing.

We attempt everything we can to get his attention.  
We greet him seductively every time we see him. We follow him everywhere, from the library to his classes to the Great Hall to the Common Room. We plan elaborate charades to make him fall in love with us. We spend weeks choosing presents for him every birthday, Christmas, Valentine's Day, Halloween, Boxing Day, New Year's, Groundhog's Day, and Easter. We beg everyone he knows to give us anything they know about him. We compile it all into an extensive encyclopedia. We all even name our owls after him.  
He never looks twice at us.

We can't understand it.

She plans not a thing. She wears what she wants, walks how she will, speaks how she wishes. She doesn't try to be nice, seems not to care how she looks. She never plans to meet him at all.  
And he can't take his eyes off of her.

He attempts everything he can to get her attention.  
He drapes the Great Hall with banners proclaiming his love. He stands atop tables to recite poetry he wrote for her. He enchants all the statues in the castle to turn the exact green shade of her eyes. He once even managed to persuade the Fat Lady to change the Gryffindor common room password into her name for a week. He asks her out every Valentine's Day without fail. He brings her the most beautiful flowers, the most exquisite chocolates, the most adorable handmade cards. He sits behind her in all his classes and stares longingly at her, not even caring when he's given detention. He begs everyone she knows to tell him everything they know about her. He even names his owl after her.  
She never looks twice at him.

We can't understand it. No one can.

He follows her everywhere. He asks her out in every imaginable romantic (and admittedly not-so-romantic) way. He flies down to her every time Gryffindor wins a Quidditch match (which is, needless to say, every time). He shouts it from the top of the staircase. He finds her in the quiet of the library. He gets down on bended knee and offers her flowers. She never accepts. He dies a little inside every time she declines, as much as he tries to act tough. And invisible we watch, fuming.  
If he had asked _us_, any of us, _we_ would have accepted in a second.

He could have any girl he wanted, any at all. Any girl would be willing to die to be her, what with the devoted way he looks at her. Any _other_ girl would worship him. We would. We _do_.  
But he worships the one girl that he can't get. He sees not the others, he sees not us, but just the one girl that would be willing to die to have him leave her alone.

It's bloody stupid.

But he never gives up.  
He doesn't give up when she yells at him publicly in the Great Hall. He doesn't give up after she brings his broomstick down onto his head in "an attempt to shrink his head to a size complementing his brain". He doesn't give up when she hurls pumpkins, pine cones, or chocolate at him, depending on the time of year. He doesn't give up when she tosses his things out the window after he smiles at her, nor when she sends a frigid glare his way.  
He never doubts what he's trying to do. He never stops. It hurts to admit it, but he really does love her.

Time passes, like it always does.  
People change.

She starts to give in to his affections.  
She begins to laugh when he tells her a joke. She begins to thank him when he gives her a gift instead of tossing it at his head. _She_ begins to give _him_ presents, grinning when he grabs her into an overjoyed hug. She begins to be charmed instead of annoyed by the way he runs his hand through his hair. She stops yelling and screaming at him, and begins to smile and laugh instead. She begins staring back.  
She starts to love him.

And we watch, helpless.

When they finally get together, we give up. We stop stalking his every step. We stop sighing every time he walks by. We stop showering him with all of our gifts. We pack away our encyclopedias and rechristen our owls.  
We know they'll love each other forever.

But we get over it.  
James Potter is _so_ last year.  
Now, we officially love Sirius Black.

* * *

Author's Note: A little rant on behalf of James Potter's fangirls. They sound like one great enormous entity (Potter has a lot of fangirls). I stereotyped them a bit, and made them seem a more bit brainless and shallow than they are, perhaps, in reality. As real as reality in a book can get, anyways. They never seem to get a chance to say anything interesting, so I decided to give them one. Poor little fangirls.  
And yes, I know Groundhog's Day and such are American holidays. I just couldn't think of any more ridiculous ones.

Read and review please!

lunaleth


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